


Friends in the Right Places

by Anjelica_Grey



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Antivan Crows, Gen, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Orlais (Dragon Age), Revenge, Walk Into A Bar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-30
Updated: 2020-01-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:06:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22483060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anjelica_Grey/pseuds/Anjelica_Grey
Summary: A chance meeting in a slaver camp leads Fenris to make some unexpected allies.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	Friends in the Right Places

**Author's Note:**

> This piece was originally written as a fic giveaway on Tumblr. I offered the winner a short story with the premise, "[Character], [character], and [character] walk into a bar..." with any three major Dragon Age characters of their choosing. The winner chose the unlikely combination of Zevran, Fenris, and Vivienne, which made for an interesting challenge!

After traveling and fighting in an icy rain all morning, the warmth of Velun’s simple inn was a blessing straight from the Maker. The Orlesian innkeeper opened his mouth—no doubt to kick them out, since he wouldn’t expect a pair of elves to have coin—but Fenris smirked when the man noted the way they bristled with weapons, and thought better of it.

“And really,” his chatty blond companion continued, his spirits unflagged by the miserable weather, “it is fortunate I happened by, else that Tevinter ambush might have had a far less pleasant ending. Well, for you, at any rate. I imagine the slavers might disagree. But the sad truth is even someone with your talents can only handle so many people at once ... no matter what intriguing things Isabela says of your skills.” His innuendo-laden smirk made it clear the double-meaning was intended. “So I am pleased I could render aid, since of course, any friend of Isabela’s is a friend of mine.”

“She says the same of you. Between you, that must add up to a truly staggering number of friends.”

Zevran laughed and gave him an appraising look. “Indeed. It is our curse for being so ridiculously good-looking. Perhaps someday we three might all pass a friendly evening together, no?” Fenris raised one sardonic eyebrow, and the other elf shrugged. “Or perhaps not. Alas. But this is not what I wished to speak of, my glowing companion.”

The inn was empty at this hour of the afternoon. The two elves sat at a table in a shadowed corner and ordered a pair of ales; Fenris leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, and feet stretched toward the fire. Idly he wondered how long it had taken the Antivan to grow accustomed to this frigid southern weather. “Am I to believe you finally mean to make a point? Wonders truly never cease.”

“You wound me, ser. I merely observe that, as it seems our current pursuits are aligned, we might be able to aid each other.”

Fenris snorted. “The last time I set aside my better judgment and fought alongside others, it didn’t end well. You may have heard; there was a small matter of an exploding Chantry. I’ll pass.”

“Ah, but you also dispatched more slavers than you could have alone, did you not?” The white-haired elf scowled and didn’t reply, so Zevran continued. “Besides, it is clear from the ambush earlier that your prey has Orlesian ties. Someone local is rounding up elves to sell to these strange Tevinter cultists—someone powerful enough to hire expensive help. I happen to have information about—“

He trailed off as a pair of Orlesians in ornate masks entered the tavern. One of them, a tall dark-skinned human woman with a bizarre hat, carried a staff. Fenris tensed. After that fool Anders destroyed half of Kirkwall, the southern mages had grown steadily bolder, until finally casting off their Templar overseers entirely. It was only a matter of time before the lot of them showed their true colors and threw in with Tevinter, he thought; this woman already had the imperious attitude mastered.

“Jean-Marc, do be a dear and go see to the horses,” she ordered the shivering guard who’d accompanied them. “The Marquis and I will wait for the weather to improve before traveling on to his estate in Montsimmard.” The innkeeper fell over himself to serve them. Soon, they were settled at his best table, a dusty bottle of expensive wine contrasting with the plain stew that was the only meal he offered. The foppish noble had his back to the two elves. The mage sat across from him, her posture flawlessly straight, making the rough-hewn furniture seem as if it should turn to gold simply by virtue of being near her.

“Are you sure it is safe to send the guard away, Lady Vivienne?” the man asked timidly once they were alone. He spoke quietly, but like most humans, failed to remember the superior hearing of elves.

“Please, darling, this charmingly rustic venue is nearly deserted, and your guard is within shouting range. More importantly, you sit with the First Enchanter of the Montsimmard Circle. Even if someone were coarse and foolish enough to attack us, I am not a woman lightly crossed.”

“Yes, yes,” he fawned, kissing her hand. “Of course you are correct. You are as wise as you are beautiful, my lady.”

“Oh come now,” she said, angling her head. “I cannot claim such impressive knowledge as that, my dear. After all, you caught me by surprise with your little plan for Duke Bastien, did you not?”

“I—don’t know what you mean, Lady Vivienne,” the man dissembled, picking nervously at his meal.

“Don’t be so modest, Marquis,” the mage said, her calm voice coated in ice. “I confess, though you’ll forgive me for being gauche ... I never suspected you’d be so bold as to act against Celene’s allies to toady favor with Gaspard. What a pretty puzzle I found, when I looked into the origin of the unfortunate assassin I intercepted. Oh, you’ll be pleased to know you won’t need to pay him. He’s quite dead.”

“But—“

“And hiring the Antivan Crows for such a purpose? Your coffers were never so bottomless before! Imagine my shock to find you’d taken up a new hobby, selling slaves to Tevinter,” she added.

“Excuse me, my friend; I believe that is my cue.” Zevran rose, graceful as a cat, and in three light steps had pressed a blade to the Marquis’ neck. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Marquis de Montsimmard. A pity our acquaintance will be so brief, but I have a score to settle with the assassins you employed. And as my companion there has been dismantling your slave trading operation, this will kill two birds with one stone, as they say.” He paused to consider. “And, as you seem a terrible person all around, it will be something of a public service.” With that, he drew the wickedly sharp dagger across the noble’s throat in one neat slice, and he collapsed without so much as a gurgle.

Fenris rose, ready to fight. “What of the mage?” he growled, waiting for the woman to make her move.

To his amazement, she removed her mask with a delighted laugh. “Aren’t you precious? Our dear Zevran approached me after I killed the Crow he’d been following, and we discovered our interests aligned.” Her smile held venom. “I warned the Marquis I was not someone to cross, but it appears he had a terminal failure of understanding.”

Fenris frowned. “But if you planned to kill the man, why did you sit back and let Zevran do it?”

“Please, darling, who do you suppose advised Zevran to be here?” She raised an elegant brow. “It seems a renegade Crow has been targeting his former associates, and poor Marquis de Montsimmard has been caught up in this feud. So tragic. I hardly know what to think after witnessing such slaughter; I shall have to retire to Bastien’s estate, content in knowing no more assassins will disturb us.”

“You see, Fenris?” Zevran said with a wink. “Sometimes it is useful to have connections.”


End file.
